


Lily Fields

by Juliko



Category: A Little Lily Princess (Visual Novel), A Little Princess - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Child Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Past Child Abuse, Tearjerker, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 09:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliko/pseuds/Juliko
Summary: "Madam Augustin says we should be grateful for her letting us live, but she doesn't own our lives. I own my life. You own yours. You can't let her take that away from you."Sara Crewe's French maid, Mariette Dumas, remembers the life she once lived, where she was once in Sara's position, where she herself was an abused, hungry drudge used for free labor, and how she found freedom.





	Lily Fields

**Author's Note:**

> So...hello! My name is Julia, and this is a fan fic I wrote for A Little Princess...or to be more specific, the recent video game adaptation, A Little Lily Princess. Yes, I’m not kidding, there is an actual video game based on Frances Hodgson Burnett’s book. It’s actually pretty good! You can buy it off a website called Steam for $15, even cheaper if it’s on sale. Anyway, one of the video game’s strengths is that it gives extra layers and backgrounds and more screentime to characters who barely got any in the book, with Mariette being one of the many characters on the receiving end of it. The game gave her a backstory, which sounds eerily a lot like that of Cosette from Les Miserables, and I thought I’d try writing about it here. Hope you enjoy it!

The stage coach on which Mariette Dumas and her mistress, Sara Crewe, bounced a little, with the wheels hitting the occasional stone on the dirt road. The jolt only mildly annoyed them, but the occupants’ thoughts were elsewhere, so the nuisance wasn’t anything they paid much attention to. Mariette glanced out the window, the lovely summer sun warming her dark skin, highlighting her messy, raven black locks. Other than the occasional horse and cattle, there wasn’t much to see in the vast meadows of farmland. Then again, the countryside offered little of London’s cobblestone streets, endless gray skies, or cluttered buildings. For the privileged class, the countryside was a refreshing change of scenery. Blue skies that stretched on forever into the vast unknown, wispy white clouds floating about aimlessly, little birds and sparrows singing, twittering, and flying from tree to tree, squirrels scuttling about...anyone who had an appreciation for nature’s simple beauty could easily be charmed by the quaint countryside.

Such was the case for Mariette’s charge, Sara. It hadn’t been very long since twelve-year-old Sara had been whisked away from the seminary and the people who worked the child to the bone every day. Only now was Sara putting on a healthy amount of weight, and expected to do naught but whatever she liked. The change was gradual, but to Mariette, it was like night and day. Sara’s cheeks became plumper, and the soft color had returned to her face. Her odd green eyes were shining like sunbeams cutting through the tree leaves, rather than looking dull, lifeless, and colorless like before. Her arms and legs no longer looked so scrawny, her hands and feet now devoid of blisters and callouses, and her hair had the fresh, feminine scent of a dewy rose, no longer stringy, ragged, and unkempt with dirt, mud, and gravel.

Mariette could only smile at her charge. This was the Sara she knew and loved, not the mistreated, weak, pathetic, sorrowful drudge who was used and abused by people who were supposed to take care of her. Sara Crewe the princess was back, and better than ever.

“Oh, look!” Sara’s dear friend Ermengarde pointed out the window, marvelling at some grazing horses. “What lovely horses! I see a Thoroughbred, an Arabian, and a darling little Shetland pony!”

Sara peeked out the window. Ermengarde was right. Two tall, graceful horses helped themselves to some grass, and a short, stocky pony held its head up high. Sara wondered if maybe the pony was trying to find some nice grass to eat.

“They certainly are lovely,” Sara said dreamily, her green eyes sparkling with wonder. “I read in books that Shetland ponies are hardy and strong even though they’re small. They were often used to pulling carts that carried coal, even during the hot summer and frigid winter.”

“Goodness! Poor little horses,” Ermengarde’s pale blue eyes went wide at this new knowledge. “I can’t see how any creature could survive dreadfully hot summers and freezing winters.”

Mariette’s expression didn’t change. Not even when she saw the shadows of nearby cattle and horses flash over the meadows. Sara’s renewed vivaciousness and Ermengarde’s sparkling joy were so entrancing to the French maid that she paid little attention to the dazzling scenery outside the stagecoach. For the solemn but quietly happy maid, the happiness of her charge was her greatest dream come true. But Ermengarde’s recent remark did shoot a pang of sadness through her heart.

“Animals have been on this world long before we humans have,” Mariette told her. Normally, it would be scandalous for a maid to insert herself into a conversation between her master and someone else of the privileged class. But Sara wasn’t like her other employers. Sara never saw Mariette as a mere servant whom she could order about at will. “And people from long ago have built entire civilizations out of nothing. Even when the sun beat down on their skin, even when harsh snows gave them frostbite. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be enjoying the luxuries we have today.”

If Sara had been a normal girl, she might have scolded Mariette for her daring. But Sara wasn’t like other girls her own age. Sara simply flashed a sparkling grin in her maid’s direction, agreeing with her sentiments.

“Yes. That is quite true, Mariette,” Sara agreed, folding her hands together. “I’ve read a great many books about the ancient Egyptians, who endured never ending heat, thirst, scorpion bites, and overwork just to build their majestic pyramids.”

By now, Sara was lost in her imagination. She could see it now: the yellow skies illuminated by the sun beating down on golden sand. Men without clothes dragging huge stone slabs with ropes in huge numbers, heaving and pulling even as their legs and arms burned from pain. Sweat oozing from every pore in their bodies. Some men even collapsing to the ground, burned by the heat and dead from having no access to water. It was such a tragic, melancholic thought...but look what the tragedy bore! Good things could definitely be born from despair and hardship.

After all, Sara was no stranger to despair and hardship. Neither were Mariette and Ermengarde.

It was then that a frown found Mariette’s face. In watching Sara tell Ermengarde about King Tut and his legacy, she was lost in her own mind. It wasn’t long ago that Mariette saw Sara in a state of despair. Sara, once a beloved student at an all-girls’ seminary, draped in a dirty black frock, her skin dirty, bruised, and calloused, being treated as having less worth than cockroaches and dust bunnies. It was as though Mariette saw a reflection of herself. The girl that she herself used to be.

“Oh! Oh my!”

Sara’s rather undignified yelp pulled Mariette from her melancholy thoughts. Her dark eyes darted about, perplexed.

“Sara?”

“Look, Mariette! It’s beautiful!”

The maid pulled the curtain back to get a better look. To say she was amazed wouldn’t be enough to describe the feelings she experienced upon seeing what Sara saw. Lilies in a whole rainbow of colors made up a beautiful patchwork quilt that took up the entire meadow. Lilies, lilies, lilies! Lavender purple, rose pink, crimson red, white like the delicate wings of an angel...never had any of the girls ever seen such a divine sight before. Fields of flowers stretching on forever. Sara and Ermengarde had seen them from afar, and Sara often imagined fields of flowers for her made-up stories, but never had they come so close to them. The flowers were so close, it was as though Sara could reach her hand out and touch their delicate foliage.

“We should have our picnic here!” Ermengarde announced.

Sara laughed, full of mirth. “Indeed, we shall.”

Because the driver of the stagecoach was at her beck and call, he stopped when Sara asked him to do so. It didn’t take long for the girls to set up their picnic among the flowers. A colorful patchwork quilt, baskets filled to the brim with sandwiches, fruits, biscuits, and other delectables Mariette had prepared herself, the fresh, lily scented air caressing their cheeks with a gentle chill...it was almost too perfect. Almost, because Sara happened to notice Mariette with an enigmatic, melancholic look on her face.

One that resembled sorrow.

“Mariette?”

“Ah!” Sara’s sweet voice had come so suddenly that the maid jumped a little in surprise. “Je suis désolé, mademoiselle,” Immediately, she had returned to speaking in her native tongue. Of course, the Queen’s tongue was quick to return.

Being the patient, understanding soul that she was, Sara simply smiled. “You needn’t apologize. I can see you are entranced by the flowers. But...are you very sad?” Her small voice changed to become solemn. “You looked rather...lost.”

Lost. As far as Mariette knew, she was anything but lost. For a brief moment, she thought she had taken the path back to her childhood. Images of a small girl with disheveled black hair, wearing a tattered, dirty dress, holding a broom larger than she, looking as small and frightened as a mistreated beggar child ran through her brain once more. She thought she had moved past those awful days. Yet even now, they still gnawed at her, like a persistent cat that would do anything to grab a bite of some meat from the grocer.

“Non, mon petit Sara,” Mariette shook her head. “You see...I saw dazzling scenery like this so very long ago. In fact...it was the day I left Limoges forever.”

The solemn maid didn’t need to speak much in order for Sara to figure out what she was talking about. It was on a cold day in London when Mariette learned of Sara’s fall from grace, and in turn, Sara learned that Mariette’s childhood was very much like her position back then--a life of endless servant’s work, never a day going by without getting scolded or having her ears boxed by evil tyrants who took advantage of their vulnerability, stomachs growling from not having enough food.

Ermengarde, on the other hand, had no knowledge of Mariette’s life before becoming Sara’s maid. “Huh? What? What is Limoges?”

“Limoges…” Mariette began. “Was where I grew up.”

***

At eight years old, Mariette found herself on the floors, scrubbing and scrubbing, pushing away any dirt or food droppings that had accumulated throughout the day. Frigid cold water bit at her already aching, reddening hands. Not even the soap could melt away the hard, white and brown callouses that grew underneath the skin of her small hands. With a sort of strange, nonchalant vigor in her heart, young Mariette continued to scrub the floor. It wasn’t to be finished until every single wooden plank was completely clean, meaning shining and spotless. Not one spec of dust was to be left behind.

Suddenly, thundering footsteps came booming down the stairs. Mariette winced, but she continued to scrub. Down the stairs came a shrewish, skinny woman with stringy blonde hair tied back with a white bandana. Her limbs and face were just as hollow and pale as the rest of her. Her gray dress, blue and white apron, and brown shoes did nothing to beautify her or fix her complexion. But just because someone looked weak and frail didn’t mean that they were actually so. Mariette knew this all too well.

“What is taking so long?!” Her loud, deafening voice betrayed her small, scrawny size, booming throughout the entire lobby. “You lazy, stupid girl! You should have finished long before now!”

“Yes, Madam Augustin,” Mariette replied in a low, hushed whisper.

Unfortunately, this didn’t satisfy the enraged woman one bit. Her dark eyes were bright with anger. Without giving Mariette time to breathe, she shoved a broom into her hands. “Go out front and dust the porch! Get those dried up leaves off this property this instant!”

Mariette’s hands were already aching from scrubbing for what appeared to be hours. The minute the broom made contact with her palm, searing pain ripped through her fingers and callouses. She used one hand to rub her arm where green and yellow bruises--still undergoing delayed healing--covered her arm. Without protest, Mariette bobbed a quick curtsey and darted out to the front porch, dusting away dead autumn leaves. Chilly winds ripped through her small persona, making her already swelling bruises and calluses burn with even worse pain than before. But she didn’t cry out. Crying out would only result in more of them.

Then again, as far as Mariette knew, everything could warrant yet another bruise or having her ears boxed. There was just no winning. In silence, the girl swept the porch, watching as people walked to and fro, not paying any attention to the small, weak, pathetic figure in front of the inn. Mariette could only hope in her heart that her mother--who went away to find work but wasn’t allowed to take her daughter with her--could make enough money and come back for her so they could get away from this horrid place and live in peace. That was the only hope she could cling to.

Every day she lived had the same, monotonous routine. Get up or be forced awake, do chores, eat whatever scraps Madam Augustin would let her and the other servants have--which wasn’t much--be ordered about at all hours of the day, then go back to bed. Mariette’s fingernails were turning brown from dirt getting inside them. Her toes were black and red, from both dirt and blood, as they would be if one didn’t have proper shoes. Her stomach seemed to growl every day, even when she did eat, and that was only if she was given food at all. Any food. Even the tiniest bread crumb.

One day, when Mariette turned ten, the temptation of hunger had gotten the better of her.

“You lazy, idiot girl! Get to the grocer’s and buy everything on this list! And hurry up!!” Madam Augustin forced Mariette out of the house with naught but a large basket and a few francs to only use for shopping. Winter had come marching right in, and the air was bitingly cold. Wearing nothing but a tattered, short sleeved dress, Mariette was completely exposed.

Snow hadn’t fallen yet, so the roads were good enough to walk on. In spite of her ailing body, Mariette managed to get to the grocer’s shop without trouble. She needed to buy apples, cabbage, bananas, cheese, and a few other things. Just going inside the grocer’s shop was like paradise. Surrounded by fresh food, tempting her to eat them. For a moment, Mariette wanted to just eat everything in the store, she was so hungry. However, that thought didn’t last long. Sweeping across her mind’s eye, images of Madam Augustin beating her with a broom, a whip, or her hands and feet pushed her away from those thoughts.

Quietly, she found everything on the list and paid for them with the francs Madam Augustin told her to use. Suddenly, the grocer gave some of the coins back once he handed her the bag.

“Here’s your change, Mademoiselle.”

Change? This wasn’t something that happened often. Did Madam Augustin give her too much money to use? She always made the children buy only what was needed, with the exact amount of money needed to buy them. Usually, no change was leftover, and Mariette knew she did this deliberately. She didn’t want any of the other children to have money for themselves. Before she could think too much about it, her stomach rumbled once more. The grocer eyed the scrawny girl with a sympathetic expression.

“Are you buying groceries, Mademoiselle?”

“Oui.”

“Do you ever get to eat?”

Normally, Mariette would say yes, because if she confessed the truth, she was sure Madam Augustin would punish her severely. She always tried to make sure the children looked as though they were well fed whenever others would stop into the inn, even when the opposite was true. Impoverished children was bad for business, she had said, and Mariette had to be grateful for even being allowed to live. Mariette wanted to slap her. Something inside her told her to say no. No, she wasn’t going to be allowed to eat such luxurious, sublime food. But how she wanted it so! Mariette shook her head.

With a kind smile, the grocer pulled out another apple, a slab of cheese, some lettuce, and a hard biscuit. Mariette could only stare wide-eyed as the man put the food into her free hand.

“You can keep the change. Consider this a special treat.”

Was this a miracle? The grocer was being so kind! Mariette wasn’t sure what she did to deserve this. But God was smiling down on her at this very moment, and Mariette wasn’t going to let this man’s generosity go to waste. With a quick merci, Mariette curtseyed before storming out of the store. She hid behind a big tree, sitting down and eating the food that he had given her. The crunchy apple and biscuit, the soft cheese...everything filled her mouth before going down to her stomach. Mariette could only smile, it felt so satisfying to eat something other than hard, dry bread and scraps for once in her life.

This experience told her that there truly were good people in this world. Not all people outside the inn were like Madam Augustin. If something as good as this could happen to her of all people, then what other miracles were waiting to be discovered? Mariette ate very slowly, savoring every single bite like it was the last meal she would ever have on this earth. She only wished she could share some of it with the other children. But she knew that if she were to bring extra food home, Madam Augustin would accuse her of stealing and whip her. No, Mariette wasn’t going to risk it. Silently apologizing to the other children at the inn, Mariette finished her fresh meal. The groceries weren’t going to deliver themselves.

A strange, new energy sprouted from inside her. Somehow, the big bag of food in her arms didn’t feel as heavy as it did before. It was still heavy, even for a girl of her age to be carrying around, so Mariette still wobbled with every step she took, barely able to look past the top of the bag. She was able to make out the inn, and some children younger than she sweeping up some leaves.

“Bonjour, Mariette!” The two young girls, aged seven and five, greeted her warmly.

“Lucienne. Olympe. Bonjour,” Mariette shot a quick greeting in their direction, smiling at them.

Lucienne and Olympe were only two of many children whom Madam Augustin used for nothing but hard labor. Like Mariette, their hands and feet were also red and brown with thick calluses from far too much work, both inside and outside the inn. Even with the bag partially blocking her view, Mariette could make out an ugly yellow bruise around Olympe’s left eye.

The girl had no time to even think about the bruise. Right at that moment, Madam Augustin came barreling out the front door. She came so suddenly that Mariette took in a sharp, startled breath, jolted from the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Even Lucienne and Olympe flinched from her entrance.

“You’re late!” Madam Augustin bellowed.

“I’m sorry, Madam.”

Without warning, the rage-consumed woman yanked the bag out of Mariette’s hands. “You better get to washing the clothes, missy!” Madam Augustin hissed. “Amelie’s too stupid to do any of it by herself, not that either of you are that good at it anyway!”

There was no point in arguing with her. Do this, do that, go here, go there, don’t do this, don’t do that. It was always the same. Even so, rebellion began to slowly mount in Mariette’s heart. Madam Augustin was always ordering her and the other children around, calling them names and beating them at the slightest provocation. Mariette couldn’t help but feel that this was wrong. All of this was wrong. Mariette made it to the wash room. An older girl, about sixteen or seventeen, sat on her knees, pulling a heap of white cloth over a scrub board, pulling it up and down in a wooden bucket of water.

“Bonjour, Amelie,” Mariette kneeled to her level and pulled some of the cloth out. “I’ll work on this side.”

“Merci,” Amelie replied tersely. Like Mariette, Amelie’s black locks were unkempt, scraggly and reaching all the way down to her upper back. Not even tying it into a ponytail with a brown ribbon could possibly control the wild curls.

The two girls barely exchanged words. What was there to talk about other than Madam Augustin scolding them over everything? The bruises, blisters, callouses, and scratches on their bodies? Mariette could only sigh as her still aching hands burned from the frigid bite of the cold water in the bucket.

***

That night, something strange happened. The back door squeaking open stirred Mariette from her slumber. She looked up, noticing someone was missing. Where was Amelie? Curious and concerned--she feared that Madam Augustin would wake up and beat her--Mariette left her bed, put on her shoes, and made her way for the back door. When she got close, she could see that it was open just a crack. A cold breeze made its way into the inn, sending shivers all throughout her aching body. Mariette pushed it open very slightly. Even in the dead of night, she could make out two shapes. Both of them were human. One was a man, wearing suspenders and a large cap. The other was a woman wearing a tattered dress and with her hair tied up into a ponytail.

Wait a minute...was that--?

Mariette pushed herself out the door. The two silhouettes turned to face her, and their eyes met.

“...Amelie?”

“Mariette?” Amelie exclaimed. Not loud enough to wake anyone inside the inn, but enough to startle her companion. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” Mariette looked down at her shoes. “You were gone, and I was worried, so I went to look for you.”

“Who is this?” The boy--about the same age as Amelie--asked, raising an eyebrow.

Amelie paid him no mind. She walked towards the younger girl, kneeled down to her level, and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, Baptiste. She is my friend. Mariette,” Amelie talked to the younger girl as if she were an adult, not a little girl. “I’m leaving this inn. Forever. Baptiste is helping me.”

Leaving? Forever? Mariette’s red eyes turned wide as saucers from the shock. Amelie was leaving? For a moment, Mariette was sure her ears were playing tricks on her. But Amelie never told a lie. Not for all the time the two girls had known each other. A lump formed in Mariette’s throat. No words came out. She couldn’t talk. This was just too much for a young girl to bear.

“I’m sorry. I can’t stay here anymore,” Amelie explained in a soft, soothing tone. “Every day Madam Augustin orders us about and beats us and treats us like less than insects. I can’t endure it any longer, so I’m leaving to find a better life. I’ve worked hard for this day, and Baptiste has been heavenly kind to me since we met.”

Good reasons. Very good reasons. In some way, Mariette understood. Amelie had always been the strongest of all the servants. Always telling off Madam Augustin for the way she treated them, opposing her cruel ways, protecting the younger children from her wrath, even if it meant having no food, receiving blows and bruises, or being thrown in the closet all night, surrounded by rats and cockroaches. But there was still one thing on Mariette’s mind. She fought the lump in her throat, pushing it down.

“I found a new job up in Paris,” Amelie explained further. “Baptiste recommended me, and the master of the house is willing to have me work as his live-in maid. I will receive proper wages and nice clothes and be treated well.”

“Can I come with you?” Mariette finally asked.

A pained expression fell on Amelie’s face at that moment. The woman looked down, unable to meet Mariette’s eyes. The younger girl could see that Amelie’s eyes were glassy, about to burst into tears. Her grip on Mariette’s shoulder tightened. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take you or the younger girls with me. Believe me, if I could take you all with me, I would. But I’m not allowed to bring anyone else, and I only have enough food for a one-way trip on the train, not enough to feed so many children.”

Mariette’s hopes were destroyed, shattered into a thousand pieces. Some tears trickled out from her eyes, falling right down her cheeks. Amelie was leaving her here! Her and all the other kids! Mariette could scarcely believe it. But she could see the pain in Amelie’s eyes, so she couldn’t bring herself to be angry. Perhaps leaving like this hurt her as well.

“There’s something I want you to know, Mariette, and listen good,” Amelie told her, standing up. “The only reason I’m leaving now is that I’ve been planning this for months. I saved all the change I got from the grocer’s for train fare, looked everywhere for a stable job, and perfected my cooking and needlework to the best of my ability,” She explained, her voice suddenly firm. “If you want to get somewhere in life, you need to have a plan. In this world, there are few people you can trust. Sometimes the only person you can trust is yourself. You have to find your own way in life. You can only move up if you work hard enough. If the position is dreadful, find another. You must look. You must fight. Madam Augustin says we should be grateful for her letting us live, but she doesn’t own our lives. I own my life. You own yours. You can’t let her take that away from you.”

The young girl didn’t say another word. All she did was ponder over Amelie’s words. In a way, she was right. Certainly, she didn’t dare trust Madam Augustin with anything. She only saw her and the other kids as slaves, not people like herself. But at the same time, she didn’t want Amelie to leave. How could she possibly endure the endless days of chores, beatings, and scoldings? The only reason Mariette did so before was because Amelie was there to protect her and help her most of the time. If Amelie were to leave...Mariette saw no way out.

With a grunt, Amelie stood up. “I have to go now. Take care of yourself, Mariette. Goodbye,” Mariette was so lost in thought, she didn’t see her friend leave. But she was able to utter a goodbye. She wasn’t sure if Amelie heard it or not.

***

However, even without Amelie, there was another reason Mariette endured her work at the inn.

One day, when Mariette was eleven, a woman came to the inn. A woman she knew well.

But she didn’t recognize her at first. The woman had a weak, trembling smile on her face, and her body was dreadfully thin. Her arms looked like sticks, and her cheeks were terribly hollow. The woman wore nothing but factory worker’s garb consisting of a blue dress underneath a dirty grey apron and a grey head cloth. Mariette noticed her walking toward the entrance to the inn as she herself was sweeping. The woman’s long, curly black hair tumbled down to her lower back. As Mariette got closer, she got a better look at the woman. Her dark skin, her cherry red eyes like her own, the mole on her nose.

Wait a minute…

A mole on her nose? Dark skin? Red eyes?

The pieces came together.

“...Maman?!”

The woman whirled around, eyeing Mariette with a shocked expression. Then the shock turned to mirth and relief. “Oh, Mariette, my darling!” The woman threw her arms around the young girl. “Dearest Mariette! Look how you’ve grown! You’ve gotten so big!”

Her mother had come. Her mother, who had left her at the Limoges inn when she was six so she could find work, had come to visit once more! Her visits had always been infrequent due to the nature of her job and how far away it was. But to Mariette, seeing her mother again was like a heavenly miracle! Her warm arms, full of love and affection, caressed her daughter, and Mariette marveled in the touch. It was warmer than any shawl or fur coat she could ever own, and more precious than anything she could have imagined.

But not even Mariette could deny her mother’s emaciated appearance. This spindly, weak-looking woman was her mother? It couldn’t be! This woman couldn’t be her mother! Her mother’s skin was always aglow with health, her eyes shining with kindness, body reasonably plump and healthy, and her cheeks always full and rosy with delight. Now, here her mother was, looking as frail and starved as a beggar child on the streets, her eyes cloudy and heavy. Mariette could see some dew underneath her mother’s eyes. Had she been sleeping at all? Had she even been eating? Her hands were just as red and calloused as Mariette’s own, only worse. What was the factory doing to her?

“Hello, Maman.”

“Mariette...it’s so good to see you. I’m sorry I can’t visit often. Believe me, if I could come visit every day, I most certainly would.”

If there was one thing Mariette knew never changed, it was her mother’s voice. Her sweet, heavenly voice. Tears trickled out from her eyes. Mariette shut her eyes, trying to hold them back, but it didn’t work. She buried herself into her mother’s bosom, not caring about how dirty the apron was. More than missing her mother, Mariette yearned to tell her everything. How horrible being here was, how Madam Augustin mistreated her and all the other children every day, how hungry she would always be, the nightmares that haunted her at night, the injuries she had to sustain...but Madam Augustin’s words echoed in the back of her mind.

_“If you dare tell anyone about this, you’ll be thrown onto the street to die! Working here is a luxury compared to begging for food on the sidewalks! You better not complain, either! Nobody likes an ungrateful brat! You better be grateful for all that I choose to give you!”_

How Mariette hated Madam Augustin! How she hated that evil woman with all of her being!

“So how are you, dearest? Are you being nice to Madam Augustin?”

Something inside Mariette snapped right open. “Maman...please listen...the truth is--”

Unfortunately, Mariette did not get the chance to tell her mother everything. The front door swung open, and a smiling, cheery Madam Augustin came skipping right out. “Madam Dumas! My, I wasn’t expecting you! Come in, come in! Your journey must have been ever so tiring!” She took the frazzled woman by the hands and escorted her inside. “Let me prepare a cup of tea. Mariette! Do come inside and help your poor mother!”

Even this miracle moment had to be soured by Madam Augustin’s blatant attempts at keeping up appearances. She could tell. Whenever her mother visited, Madam Augustin always changed her voice to that sweet sound. Sweet as honey. Sickeningly so. Sickening because hearing it made Mariette sick to her stomach, as she knew all too well that it was clearly fake. A facade. A fabrication. Knowing what was to come, Mariette simply did as Madam Augustin asked. Her mother was welcomed into the inn with graciousness on Madam Augustin’s part. Mariette didn’t dare complain. There was far too much risk involved. What would Madam Augustin do to both her and her mother, should she tell the truth?

More than that, she was sure Madam Augustin was deliberately trying to keep her mother occupied, not allowing them to be alone together. All she did was keep her mother at the table, giving her cups of tea and palavering on about how wonderful things have been with that fake sugary voice of hers. Mariette said nothing throughout their conversation. Madam Augustin made it clear that if Mariette said anything at all that she wasn’t supposed to, which was anything Augustin didn’t approve of, there would be severe punishment afterward. But oh, how Mariette yearned to tell her mother everything! Alas, she had to pretend everything was perfectly fine.

There was another reason Mariette couldn’t bring herself to tell her mother anything. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. These were hard times for everyone. By all accounts, Mariette was considered one of the lucky ones. She had a home, a job, and a bed to sleep in, cursory as they were. Madam Augustin made sure to drill that into her mind every day. Her mother worked long and hard just to provide for her, and not once did she hear her mother complain. Mariette’s heart grew heavy. How could she tell her mother about Madam Augustin when she herself was working herself to the bone every day? Mariette clamped her lips shut, her eyes blurring.

“I notice you’ve sent less centimes than the last,” Madam Augustin pointed out, feigning concern. “Is everything alright?”

Mariette’s mother nodded. “The factory lost some workers, and the price of iron has gone down some. It’s very worrying, so some of the pay has been cut. I’m doing all I can.”

“I’m sure you are. These are trying times for everyone, even us. It’s a miracle we have honest jobs at all.”

Mariette silently shot a glare at the innkeeper. ‘Miracle my eye,’ She thought bitterly. Miracles were the stuff of heaven. Working day and night in an inn under the loathsome eye of a skinny waif was not Mariette’s definition of a miracle.

Of course, whether it was intentional or not, Madam Augustin had taken up all of the woman’s time. Mariette’s mother prepared to leave. “I’m sorry, Mariette,” The woman kneeled down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. Her lips were chapped, but warm to the touch. “I can’t take you with me today. But I’ll come back the next time I have time off. You behave yourself.”

 _‘No, Maman. Please stay,’_ Mariette wanted to beg. Her eyes blurred and burned at the same time. She wanted to cling to her mother’s dirty dress and keep her there. _‘Please don’t leave me! I don’t want to stay with that awful woman! Let me go with you! I can work alongside you! I don’t want to be here anymore! Please, don’t leave!’_ Oh, how she yearned to scream, cry, and fling herself onto her mother. But her throat clamped itself shut. Nothing else was said.

Mariette uttered a low, barely audible goodbye before her mother waved and disappeared. In that instant, Madam Augustin’s sugary sweet facade dissipated. A sharp hand shot right out, gripping Mariette’s chin and pulling it up. Their eyes met, and Mariette trembled when she saw that the innkeeper’s eyes were bright and ugly with scorn.

“Don’t delude yourself, you brat,” Madam Augustin hissed, her whisper venomous. “Your mother will never be able to whisk you away from me. I am responsible for your keeping. The centimes she sends me always go to the inn!”

That last sentence confirmed the worst. Augustin was stealing her mother’s hard earned money and using it for herself! She had wondered why there were more framed pictures and pretty vases around the inn lately. But to think this was how Augustin acquired the money...siphoning it from her mother! Mariette’s blood burned.

“You belong to me, little girl. Your mother will never come back for you! Your life is mine to do with as I please!”

Her blood burned hotter. Amelie’s words echoed in her mind. ‘You’re wrong. My life belongs to me! You don’t own me, and my mother will come back for me! I know she will!’ If there was one thing Mariette hated in all the world, it was someone acting as though she was merely an object to be used for their convenience.

“Any day you don’t work, you are stealing from me, and stealing will always be punished.”

It took everything Mariette had to stop herself from screaming. How dare this woman! How dare she! Mariette’s blood continued to simmer with the force of an oppressive summer heat wave. She wanted so badly to explode! Suddenly, Augustin’s hold on the girl ceased, and Mariette was back on her feet. The conversation was over.

Mariette didn’t know it at the time, but it would be the last she ever saw of her mother.

***

One night, when Mariette was thirteen, she was stirred awake by a feeling of abject dread.

Which was odd because nothing had happened to force Mariette awake. No noise, no daylight, no nightmares, nothing. Out of nowhere, Mariette’s eyes slammed wide open, facing nothing but a pitch black ceiling. An intense, overwhelming sense of sorrow suddenly came over her, slamming into her like a runaway horse buggy. Mariette could only sit up in confusion, unable to comprehend what she was feeling. Then she felt tears trickle down her cheeks. Dripping onto her thin, plain bedsheets. Why was she crying? Nothing had happened to trigger such a reaction. Mariette couldn’t think of any reason why she felt such abject melancholy.

Except for one possibility.

“Maman...you’re gone, aren’t you?” She whispered so quietly that no one else could possibly hear it. Not even she herself heard it. It eventually became clear. Something was telling her that her mother would never come for her. Her mother might have died. Her frail body trembled. Her fists began shaking, clutching the thin fabric of the coverlet that made no attempt to push away the frigid winter winds. Those only made the tears on her cheeks sting her face like fire ripping through her.

It was here that the reality of her situation finally broke her. Against her better judgment, Mariette cried into her coverlet, howling like a dying wolf. She didn’t care if anyone woke up and scolded her for the noise she made. The weight of the sorrow that struck her pressed her deeper and deeper down. No amount of crying and screaming could possibly push the sadness out from her already broken heart. In fact, she wanted it to consume her completely. What else was there to do now? Would she have to be Madam Augustin’s slave and scapegoat forever? She had waited all this time for the day when her mother could come get her and take her away from this awful inn.

She had waited all for nothing. The torture of waiting and enduring left scars that would never heal.

“Maman...don’t leave me…” Mariette whimpered, her cries dying down. She had no idea how long she had cried. She didn’t care at this point. Everything was pitch black, even her heart and any hopes for a future she may have cultivated.

But something caught her eye. It was a small fourpenny pence coin she had received from the grocer. One of many, many coins and brass farthings she managed to save throughout her years of work. She had kept it all in a small jar, hiding it under a loose floorboard that nobody, not even Augustin or the younger children, managed to find or notice. Mariette realized then that she had forgotten to put that pence in her jar. She reached out to grab it, crawled to the floor, pulled the jar out, and put the coin inside. The jar was heavy in her weak hands, like a brick, and it was halfway filled with coins.

It was full of something else as well: hope for a better future.

Amelie’s words echoed in her mind. _“If you want to get somewhere in life, you need to have a plan. In this world, there are few people you can trust. Sometimes the only person you can trust is yourself. You have to find your own way in life. You can only move up if you work hard enough. If the position is dreadful, find another. You must look. You must fight.”_

Look and fight. Look and fight. Fight to survive. No, perhaps hope isn't gone after all. Amelie worked hard for her freedom, leaving when she finally found the chance to do so, even when everything she had might have been taken from her. A trembling fist rested on her bosom. Suddenly, a new spark was ignited.

“...Maman. Please protect me from heaven, if you’re there,” Mariette told herself. “I’ll fight for my freedom, no matter how long it takes.”

***

Getting through every day was always a constant struggle. Doing chores, being ordered about, having her ears boxed over the slightest provocation, having to watch the other children be treated like less than garbage...there were times when Mariette wanted to just run. Run somewhere. But she couldn’t afford to do that. She had seen too many vagrant children and people starving on the streets to try and put herself in such a vulnerable position. She had to make do with that she had, and that meant saving money and enduring Madam Augustin’s wrath. If Amelie could survive this, then maybe she could, too.

Sometimes, her resolve wavered. One day, the parents of both Lucienne and Olympe came to the inn to take them back. To say the little girls were overjoyed would be putting it lightly. Mariette, at fourteen, could only watch in silence as the joyful girls took their parents’ hands and left the Limoges inn forever. She smiled at their departure, relieved that they would no longer be sad little drudges. But another feeling rose in her chest. Envy. Jealously. Their parents came for them. Mariette’s didn’t. She could only clutch the broom in her hands tightly, pressing her lips so hard they turned white. Why did God choose to smile on Lucienne and Olympe, and other children whose parents came back for them, and not Mariette? Then, realizing her transgression, Mariette scolded herself. No, she couldn’t be angry at the girls. They deserved to be happy and free. Mariette reminded herself that sometimes certain happenings were out of her control. She pushed her jealousy to the side, praying for Lucienne and Olympe’s happiness.

One day, Mariette managed to find the door leading to freedom. But it wasn’t anything she had expected.

It happened a few weeks after Mariette had turned sixteen. Since she was older, she was allowed to serve food and drink to the customers during work hours. Some of them were generous and slipped money into her pockets for her good service. Others not so much, preferring to try and grab at her body with their hands. They weren’t successful, thanks to Amelie having taught her about such people long before this. It happened on a cloudy morning, when the skies were so gray that not even the sun could possibly shine her light on Limoges. Mariette was busy putting coal into the fireplace when she could hear the scraping of Madam Augustin’s boots on the wooden flooring.

“Mariette! On your feet, girl! There’s something I need to tell you!” Madam Augustin barked, her scratchy voice becoming even raspier from the passage of time.

As ordered, Mariette stood up, her hands black from coal and soot. “What is it, Madam?” Immediately, she could feel that something wasn’t quite right. A strange sense of unease creeped into her.

“You’re well aware that business has been slow,” Madam Augustin hissed. “We haven’t had as many customers, and without customers, no money, and if we don’t have money, we can’t keep the inn running. We have to do all we can to keep this place alive.”

 _‘I’d rather it fall to pieces,’_ Mariette thought bitterly. She didn’t dare say it aloud, so she kept herself silent.

“You just turned sixteen, correct? Now that you’re of age, you can do more for me. I know a place you can do where you can make a lot of money for the inn.”

Mariette’s eyes widened. What was she implying?

“I’ve made arrangements for you to start working at the Rue de Solon starting next week.”

The Rue de Solon? A hand flew to Mariette’s throat. She had heard of that place. She often passed right by it when she went shopping, often seeing women of easy virtue going in and out wearing scandalous clothing. The pieces all came together, forming a very dark, grim picture. Said picture finally flung the lid on her anger right open.

Before she could think of stopping herself, Mariette shouted, “...You’re asking me to work in a brothel?!”

“Of course!” Madam Augustin exclaimed like it was nothing more than an afterthought. “You’re clearly old enough, so the customers there would take great pleasure in your services.”

The volcano in Mariette’s heart finally erupted. All the anger, sorrow, and hatred amassing inside her ever since she can remember could no longer be contained. Suddenly, Mariette raised her arm, her hand striking Madam Augustin right across her cheek. The blow was so strong, Madam Augustin stumbled a bit, almost falling on a wooden stool had she not managed to catch herself. Still, the innkeeper’s eyes were wide like plates, even more so when she saw the burning indignation in the girl’s eyes.

“...Did you just strike me?! How dare you!!”

“I absolutely refuse to work in a brothel!!” Mariette roared, her voice higher and angrier than it had ever been in her whole life. She was sure the voice didn’t belong to her. But there was no stopping her now.

Of course, Madam Augustin wasn’t deterred. “You ungrateful girl! Who took you in and raised you?! Who gave you food and clothing and shelter! I did! You owe me your life--”

“I don’t owe you anything!!” Mariette was screaming at the top of her lungs. She wasn’t going to let this woman control her anymore. She had had enough. No more! “You took my mother from me! You took away any chance I had of a normal life! You used me and all the other children for your own convenience! You beat me, curse me out, and degrade me every single day, and all for your own amusement! You expect me to be grateful for all that you’ve done to me?! Well, I am NOT grateful, and I won’t ever be! You don’t deserve any respect from me or anyone!”

“You horrid girl! You don’t have the right to refuse! I own your life--”

“MY LIFE BELONGS TO ME!!” Mariette was done. Done with Madam Augustin. Done with everything. There was no fear left. With a sweep of her foot, Mariette marched into her room, pulled the jar out from the floorboard, and stormed right out of the inn with naught but the clothes and shoes on her body.

Of course, Madam Augustin didn’t dare chase her. She simply stood on the porch and watched as Mariette stormed right out. But she did manage to shout at her from a distance. “Don’t think you can survive in this world all on your own, you idiot!! Your mother abandoned you!! She never loved you!! Nobody will ever love an ungrateful brat like you!! You should be exalting me for everything I’ve ever done to keep you alive!! I took you in when no one else wanted you!! You need me, you horrid girl! You’ll be dead on the streets!! You’ll be just like Amelie! She also left when I tried to make her work at the brothel!! You’re just as stupid as she is!!”

No matter how ugly the words thrown at her were, Mariette didn’t look back. She didn’t respond. This time, she wasn’t going to give Augustin the dignity of a response. Not anymore. Finally, with resolve in her heart, Mariette left the Limoges inn for good. Finally. No more Madam Augustin. No more starving for food. No more working and being beaten with brooms, sticks, fists, or kicks. She could make something of herself. But she needed to find work first. She knew that much for sure. Amelie had told her such.

Thankfully, despite the scarcity of jobs, Mariette did manage to find some odd jobs in her neighborhood that paid well. Working as a live-in maid for a small but noble family, making meals, doing mending, and looking after children. A waitress for a small restaurant, serving food and drinks to customers and patrons. Sewing lace and embroidery on dresses for a dress shop. Unlike Madam Augustin, all of her employers were kind, friendly people who paid her well. Not as much as they could, since times were still tough, but more than Mariette ever expected in her life. Mariette did know that if she needed to be successful, she would need to go to Paris, as that city had more stable, higher paying jobs. As good as her pay was now, it wasn’t enough to do something grand like own a house.

Eventually, she saved enough for train fare to use to go to Paris. When she turned eighteen, Mariette finally stepped on a train, leaving Limoges forever. As she sat in the train, watching the scenery run right by her, something inside her suddenly snapped. Tears bubbled forth, and Mariette buried her face into her hands, sobbing and crying. Finally, she was truly free! Free from decades of being used as nothing more than a drudge to be ordered about and beaten over the slightest provocation. She found true freedom. But she could no longer see her mother or her friends again. That was what truly hurt her heart. She had realized it long ago, but only then did her heart and soul truly allow itself to mourn over what she could have had, what she had lost.

Soon, a beautiful sight pulled Mariette from her sadness. She looked up and out the window, enthralled by the most amazing sight she had ever seen. Lily fields. A rainbow of dainty little flowers that covered entire meadows in an array of colors. Sweet rose pink, deep crimson red, soft lavender purple, bright yellow like the sunshine, white like the delicate wings of an angel from heaven...never before now had Mariette seen so much color, so much life. It was a beautiful miracle sent down from heaven, Mariette had told herself. Maybe...it was a gift from her mother, to let her know that she was in heaven, watching over her and allowing her to start a new chapter in her life.

“What beautiful flowers…” Mariette whispered, laying her head against the glass to watch the ocean of flowers fly right past her. “Maman...I’m free now. I can finally be happy.”

Yes. A new chapter of her life would begin. This time, Mariette would be the one to write it out in her own words.

“Mariette?”

“Mariette!”

***

“Huh?” Sara’s sweet voice pulled Mariette from her reverie. “Sara?”

“You were lost in thought,” Sara told her with a light giggle. “You looked just like Becky for a moment.”

Mariette’s face heated, her cheeks blazing red, and not just from the warm weather. “Did I? I’m sorry.”

Thankfully, Ermengarde redirected the conversation. But she had looked down at her meat pie, her dull blue eyes glassy and wistful. “I’m ever so sad that Becky couldn’t come with us,” Ermengarde murmured, unsure of whether to finish her meat pie or not. “It’s such a beautiful day, and I know Becky would have loved to see all of these lilies.”

Both Sara and Mariette nodded in agreement. “She couldn’t help getting sick, Ermie,” Sara told her reassuringly, a soft hand resting on her friend’s shoulder. Ermengarde smile, relishing the warm, gentle touch. “Next time, when Becky is feeling better, we can all go together.”

“Indeed,” Mariette piped in. “You needn’t look so melancholy, Madam St. John.”

Reassured by their kindness, Ermengarde’s smile returned once more. “Yes. That would be most lovely,” Then she finished her meat pie. She was only too happy that her father, or any other adults, wasn’t around to scold her for eating sweets. Sara and Mariette paid no mind at all, eating their own lunches right along with her. This was a picnic, after all. Why not eat their lunch on a beautiful day, framed by the wonderful lilies surrounded them?

Suddenly, Mariette spoke. “It’s funny. We’re surrounded by lilies. Have I ever told you that my mother’s name was Lillie?”

Their curiosity piqued, the girls turned to face the French maid, their eyes glimmering with mirth and a desire to learn more. “My, what a lovely name!” Ermengarde exclaimed.

“What was your mother like, Mariette?” Sara asked. Then her smile disappeared as she realized she may have crossed a boundary she wasn’t allowed to. “Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

Mariette shook her head, her black locks dancing with every movement she made. “It’s alright. I would love to tell you about her. She was a lovely woman, and I loved her very much.”

The French maid went on to tell the girls everything about her mother, even about her own life at Limoges, with the lily fields protecting them from any harm that could befall them. Of all the memories that Mariette had, this would be one she would cherish forever, because after all the hard work she put in, all the hurt and pain she endured, she finally found peace. Peace with herself, and hope for a future full of happiness.

Spring was here, and in spring, new flowers would always bloom.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. If you play A Little Lily Princess and take Mariette’s route, she mentions that she was like Sara in that she lost her parents and was abused by adults who used her for free labor. It was only mentioned in a few lines of dialogue in the game, and Mariette in the original novel had no backstory or personality at all. In 19th century Great Britain, the Industrial Revolution was at its peak, and many people of lower social classes, including children as young as five, all had to all kinds of work. Working in factories, using cotton/weaving mills, scullery work, becoming servants in foreign households, and working in mines. Poor families were dependent on children working, and obviously, during that time, single mothers couldn’t work while raising children at the same time, so they had no one to turn to except strangers, who would often use children as free labor. Their employers often cared more about making money than the welfare of the people who worked under them during the 19th century, children being no exception. For more information, you can go here: little-princess-sara.net/childlabourE.html
> 
> 2\. A brothel is basically a place where prostitutes and sex workers live and do their work, along with engaging in sexual activity. Brothels were very common in the 16th-19th centuries. In the game, no such places are mentioned, obviously because the game is aimed at children, but Mariette mentions she left Limoges because the innkeeper wanted her to do unsavory things (actual words), which can easily be interpreted as wanting Mariette to partake in sex work.
> 
> 3\. A farthing was a coin worth a quarter of an old penny. Today, ‘brass farthing’ means a trivial amount. When someone says something or someone is not worth a brass farthing, it means they’re not worth anything or good for nothing.


End file.
